


From Now On - Communication

by FanFictionaries



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFictionaries/pseuds/FanFictionaries
Summary: Bucky's almost positive you want to break up with him. Is he correct or could he not be further from the truth? A story of miscommunication, apartment keys, guilt, and Sam Wilson being a very good friend.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 127





	From Now On - Communication

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a request in my Tumblr inbox for an angsty, miscommunication fix with Bucky. 
> 
> If you'd like to request your own story/headcannon/anything please feel free to hit me up on tumblr @FanFictionaries.

“I think I’m gonna break up with (Y/N).” There. He’d said it. It had been on his mind all week long. He’d kept it tucked away, tried to hide it, but the further he buried it the worse it clawed and scratched at his brain, trying to worm its way out.

“Really? I was thinking about getting a full back tattoo of you riding the cap shield like a surfboard,” grunted Sam, working his way through the last of his set of bicep curls.

“What?” Bucky asked in confusion, looking to his partner.

Sam shrugged, standing and placing the heavy dumbbell back in its place, “Well, I just figured since we were saying stupid _shit_ today, I’d join in.”

“Sam, I’m being serious here man.”

“Oh, I know you are, Tinman. That’s why I think you’ve lost your god damn mind. Why would you want to break up with (Y/N)? She’s the best damn thing that’s ever happened to you—” Sam walked across the gym, grabbing his water bottle before making his way to Bucky “—I mean, I still can’t understand how you landed her. She’s _way_ too good for you.”

“I know!” The words came out more raucous and forceful than he intended. Sinking down onto a nearby bench, Bucky braced his elbows on his knees, letting his head hang low, “I know. That’s the problem. She’s _too good_ for me.”

“Don’t tell me this is another one of those _‘Poor me. I’m too broken and damaged for her to love me.’_ things. Because if it is, I’m gonna’ have to kick your ass,” said Sam, raising an eyebrow at the sulking man in front of him.

“No, no. It’s not that—”

“You know I’ll do it.”

“I know and it’s not—well it’s a little bit of that but—I just…”

“What? Is she too pretty? Too smart? Too nice? Too eager to put up with your shit?”

“No! It’s none of that!” shouted Bucky, beginning to wonder why he ever thought to confide in the irritating man in front of him. Oh right – because he didn’t have any other friends.

“Then what is it?” Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“She wants to break up with me, but she’s too nice to just pull the trigger. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” Bucky stood, grabbing his towel and stalking towards the water fountain—his anger and irritation manifesting in the physical need to _move_.

Sam, hot on his heel, followed him, leaning against the wall as Bucky bent to get a drink. The cool water sent icy chills though his body as it flowed down his throat. “Did she tell you this? Did you physically _hear_ her say that?”

“No, but I’m not an idiot, Sam. I know when a dame is trying to end things without really ending them. As much as people like to think ghosting is a new concept, it’s really not. In fact, if anything it was _easier_ for gals to just disappear and avoid you in the 40s than it is now. Either way – you eventually get the message.” As much as he hoped the cold water would cool him down, his anger continued to bubble. Anger not for Sam. Not even for you. But for himself. This was his fault after all. He scared you off.

Bucky sighed, continuing to stare down at the waterspout below him, the water flowing crystal clear, swirling around the basin and disappearing down the drain, “She’s been avoiding me. She won’t answer my calls. Barely calls me back. When I do happen to get ahold of her, she’s short. Tries to end the call as quickly as possible. I was supposed to come over last night and she cancelled on me. She never cancels on me.”

“Have you tried being direct with her? Asking her what’s going on?” asked Sam, his tone softer, kinder now that he understood the full extent of the situation.

“Yea. She keeps insisting that nothing’s going on. But I—I know she’s lying. Lying about _something!_ I mean, you don’t do what we do for a living and not know when people are lying straight to your face.”

Running a hand over his cropped hair, he looked to Sam for help. As much as they liked to give each other shit, he had begrudgingly come to rely on his partner for the things he used to rely on Steve for. Friendship. Companionship. Emotional support. All that sappy shit. Much to his annoyance, Sam was really good at it too. All the sappy shit.

“Look, I don’t wanna’ pry man, but did something…happen?”

“Yea. I told her about Riga.”

The moment kept playing over and over again in your head. Repeating on a continuous loop for the past week. It had started out like any other night – Bucky was sleeping over. He did that a lot recently. Not that you minded. It just meant you got to spend more time with your wonderful boyfriend. You liked having him there. In your space. His familiar presence was becoming a consistent and habitual aspect of your life. Wake up – Bucky. Go to work – Bucky. Get home – Bucky. Go to sleep – Bucky. Some might consider it excessive, but to you it was wonderful. Never had you felt more at ease with someone else.

“Thanks again for letting me sleep here doll,” said Bucky, pulling back the covers on what you had begun to consider his side of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, pulling your body towards him. You allowed yourself to roll into his side, draping an arm across his bare abdomen.

You hummed in response, burying your face into the crook of his chest. Wrapping his flesh arm around your shoulders, he pulled you in tight. You felt the firm press of his lips to the top of your head as he inhaled your scent. The heat of a contented sigh brushed across your scalp, causing baby hairs to tickle your face.

“It’s a hell of a lot better than my place.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, tracing patterns across the plains of his chest.

“Ehh, upstairs neighbors. I can always hear them walking around,” answered Bucky.

“Too loud?”

Bucky was quiet. His body stiffened under yours and for a moment, you wondered if you had said something wrong. “No. They’re not too loud. I just—”

He stopped, struggling to get the words out.

“Hey—” you laid your palm flat against his chest and rubbed the warm skin firmly “—you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I want to—”

“But?”

“It’s not like how you’d think. The memories.” _Oh_. You held your breath, listening patiently as the conversation turned to a subject you didn’t expect. “Most assume that I remember the things I’ve done the way you’d remember any other moment. But, for so many years I was just a prisoner in my own body. Watching as someone else pulled the trigger, over and over again. When I remember things – it’s like I’m someone else. Like I’m watching myself from the outside.”

You continued to stay silent, rubbing your hand back and forth across his chest soothingly as you took in his words. Seventy years. Seventy years a prisoner in his own body. So much so that his subconscious had a hard time connecting the things he did with the person he was. “It was my first missions. A journalist in Riga was getting a little too nosy for Hydra’s liking. I was sent in to take care of him. Then cover it up – make it look like an accident. It was simple. Quick. Something to test if I was ready to be sent into the field. I shot him and his wife in their dining room. I remember watching as I walked around their bodies. Just stepping over them like they were nothing. The house was small and old, and the floorboards creaked. My mission was to burn the house and the bodies. I grabbed a can of gas from the shed in the backyard. A box of matches from the kitchen.”

His voice remained steady, but you could feel the strain and guilt he carried emanate from his body.

“I never noticed the cracks in the floorboards. Turns out they had two children hiding in the crawl space below the floor.”

“Oh Bucky…did they?” You couldn’t say it. Your hand stilled.

“No. They managed to get out, after I left. But Hydra found them a few days later and finished the job,” said Bucky bitterly.

“Bucky – that’s not your fault. You know that, right?” Looking up at him from where you laid, you were met with the turn of his head. Unwilling to look you in the eye.

“No, I didn’t kill them, but only because I didn’t know they were there. If I did…I honestly don’t know. And they—they watched me kill their parents. They sat under those floorboards and listened to me walk over their dead parents with no remorse. No regret. Scared out of their minds that they’d be next. Every time I hear those footsteps above me, I can’t help but think about them. It’s like I’m in that crawlspace with them, waiting for the monster come and get me. But I’m—I’m the monster (Y/N).”

You felt a wetness pool on the top of your head, a small warm trickle you quickly recognized as tears. Bucky’s tears. Sitting up, you pulled his body into your lap. He followed without argument, clinging to you desperately, as the tears continued to flow. Rocking him back and forth you did your best to soothe him. Whispering sweet promises and assurances that you were there. That he wasn’t a monster. That that person wasn’t him then and it wasn’t him now. You knew that self-loathing lived within his soul, but never did you realize the depths to which it burrowed and festered until that moment. So disgusted and ashamed of the things his body had been forced to do, his mind had constructed a world in which he was both the victim and the perpetrator. What it must be like – to be afraid of yourself, to be your own nightmare, to be the thing that kept you up at night – you could never imagine. Never could you truly know the extent to which he suffered, but you did know one thing.

You couldn’t let Bucky continue to stay in a place that caused him so much pain.

After that night, you’d began your preparations. You honestly had no idea why it had taken you this long to consider it. You already enjoyed having Bucky constantly in your space. You loved him. Neither of you had said the words yet, but you know you did. To a certain extent you believed that he loved you back as well. He would have never borne himself to you like that if he didn’t. The two of you had been together for a while now anyways. Your apartment was on the top floor. No upstairs neighbors. Asking him to move in with you was the logical next step. The only issue was that Bucky was a proud man. If you asked him to move in with you the morning after his confession, he would expect that it was done out of pity and most likely refuse. That was far from what you wanted. You wanted him to know that you were serious. That you genuinely wanted him there with you.

So began your purge of all unnecessary items – making room for Bucky and anything he might want to make the space feel more like his own. Steve had left some things behind – relics of their past lives that you knew were important to Bucky. Such as an old record player, a desk and chair, a radio. They were things that made him feel a little less out of his element. Unfortunately, you had accumulated a lot of, well for lack of a better word – crap—over the years and the job had turned out to be a lot tougher than you originally expected. Hauling boxes of dusty knick-knacks, bags of clothes, and even a few items of furniture down from your 4th story walk up was no easy job. Wanting to ask him the big question as soon as possible – you spent what little time you had after work clearing and organizing your apartment to a neurotic level. You were exhausted. Exhausted and honestly a little crazy.

Every day harbored a new anxiety that he would say no. That you had done all this work for him to say that he wasn’t ready for this step. However, the rational part of your brain pushed the nagging thought away. If he didn’t like you or your apartment, he wouldn’t spend so much time there. Plus, the more perfect you made the space for him, the less likely he was to say no.

The worst part of it all though, was the lying to him. You were an awful liar. So bad, in fact, that you were known to ruin presents, surprise parties, and on occasion your friends’ ability to tell you secrets. The bigger a secret was, the harder it was for you to keep it. Therefore, you’d been keeping your interactions with Bucky to a minimum. The whole thing had almost toppled over onto you when you forgot he was supposed to come over for dinner and movies that Wednesday night. When he’d left a message telling you he was leaving work in five, you panic called him and told him you had to cancel, leaving him with a vague and certainly awful excuse. Seeing your apartment in shambles would certainly give away your surprise.

But it was only a week, you told yourself. You only needed to hold out for a week. You were meeting him for dinner that night and then you’d ask him. If he said no, you’d take him over to your apartment and prove to him you were serious. If he said yes, then you’d still take him over to your apartment and surprise him with all the hard work you’d done.

Preparing to meet Bucky for dinner, you checked your makeup one last time in the mirror before turning back to your apartment. Taking a second to look around the space, you were pleased with your work. The place looked fantastic. It was clean top to bottom. Empty spaces sat throughout for Bucky to move his things into. A blank spot on the far wall of the apartment was left for his record player. The spare bedroom had a wall free for his desk next to yours. The bookshelf had two whole rows for him to fill with books of his own. You’d cleared out half of your closet and dresser for him to put his clothes. The top of the fridge sat empty for him to place his radio. You could almost image him sitting at the little kitchen table, listening to it on Saturday mornings.

Checking your purse, you smiled at the small box where a spare key sat, a single piece of ribbon tied around it in a bow. Maybe it was a bit much, but Bucky meant enough to you, for you to make the effort. You were meeting Bucky at his favorite pizza place in Brooklyn. You had it all planned out. You’d order his favorite pizza, a few beers, and then you’d take out the box once you finished your food. Wiping your hands on the skirt of your dress, you took a deep breath. You could do this. Nervous energy coursed through your body as you walked down the flights of stairs and onto the city streets. You were only a block away from your apartment when your phone buzzed. Pulling it out, the sight of Sam’s name took you by surprise.

“Hey Sam, what’s up?” you asked, answering on the second ring.

“Hey! (Y/N)! Not much, just checking in on you. Haven’t heard from you in a while. Just wanted to see how you were doing,” said Sam casually.

“Oh, that’s so sweet Sam. Sorry I’ve been so radio silent lately, but I’m doing good! I’m actually on my way to meet Bucky for pizza,” you told him as you briefly looked both ways before crossing the street.

“Yea, about that. You know, if you ever wanted to talk about anything, I’m here. You can talk to me. I’m not just Bucky’s friend. I’m yours too.”

“Wow, well that’s really sweet Sam.” The sentiment _was_ really sweet, albeit a tad weird and out of place, but sweet, nonetheless. Maybe he was feeling sentimental? Perhaps he was a bit hurt that you’d been MIA for the last week not just from Bucky, but from him as well. Should you tell him what you had planned? It might make him happy to know the secret before you told Bucky. Plus, there was no way he could spoil the surprise. You were telling Bucky in the next hour or so anyways.

“Actually – Sam. There is something I wanted to tell you.”

“Really?” he asked in surprise. 

“Yea, I’ve been trying to keep a low profile this past week because it’s a surprise and I’m such a bad liar, but I trust you not to spill the beans,” you joked as you neared the pizza place.

“Okay…” Sam said slowly.

“I’m asking Bucky to move in with me tonight!” you practically yelled it, the excitement bubbling over.

“What?!”

“Yea! I know, it’s exciting! I’m just worried about whether he’ll say yes or not, ya know? It’s a big step, but I just feel so secure in this relationship and I care for him so much.”

“(Y/N)—”

Spotting Bucky standing outside of the restaurant, you spoke quickly into the phone, “Oh! I see Bucky now. I have to go! I’ll text you later.”

You could hear Sam’s voice from the other end but didn’t quite catch what he said as you hung up and skipped over to Bucky. Flinging yourself into his arms, you hugged him tightly, leaning back to place a quick peck to his lips, “Hey babe!”

He seemed confused when he looked at you, carefully placing his hands on your waist, “Hey.”

“Let’s go inside, I’m starving!”

The dinner was more tense than the meals you usually shared. You found yourself at a loss for words continuously throughout the night. Everything he said, everything you said, heck everything you _thought_ led your brain to the subject of him moving in. Five times, you’d almost slipped up and called it ‘our’ apartment. You were pathetic! Bucky also seemed to be battling something, but you assumed it was mostly likely a response to the weird vibes you were giving off. When the waitress had cleared the tables, you were struck by a wave of nerves. This was it. This was the moment. Reaching into your purse beside you, your fingers closed around the small box and pulled it out, keeping it hidden beneath the table.

Opening your mouth to begin the small speech you had practiced in the mirror that morning, you were stopped by Bucky.

“Listen, (Y/N). There’s something I wanted to talk to you about actually.”

Looking up at him, you found him staring intently down at his hands. You pivoted your body back towards him, “What’s up?”

Bucky sighed, heavily, “I…this isn’t working anymore, (Y/N).”

“What’s not working?” you asked dumbly, unable to comprehend the words he was saying.

“This—” he motioned between the two of you “You and me.”

“I don’t—I don’t understand. Why—”

“Let’s not pretend, (Y/N). I think it’s pretty clear that we’re not happy here.” You weren’t? Searching through your memories, you tried to understand how you had missed when he became unhappy. Was it when you bored him with your lame reality TV? Was it when you fell asleep too early on Friday nights? Or was it when he noticed your propensity to talk too loudly at parties? Or the way you left coffee stains on his copy of the Sunday Times every week? Perhaps it was simply in the moments when you weren’t looking – too engrossed in your own happiness to notice when his own had faded.

Swallowing thickly, you chose your words carefully, trying to keep your composure in the highly public place, “Well, if that’s how you feel, then maybe we should end this.”

You wouldn’t beg him. You wouldn’t beg and plead with him the way you truly wanted to. The last thing you wanted was to guilt him into staying in a relationship where he wasn’t happy. A short and bitter laugh escaped Bucky, the sound like sharp and jagged glass digging into every inch of your body.

“Yea, I think that’s for the best,” said Bucky coldly.

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. It was almost comical how quickly you had agreed with him. It only proved his theory. Things were over between the two of you and you didn’t have the guts to end it. Probably due to pity. Nobody wanted to dump the sad, damaged guy. He watched as you stood suddenly, the movement catching him off guard. At the very least, he expected some kind of pity goodbye – an empty promise to remain friends, a stiff hug with a pat on the back. But the desperate confusion on your face as your eyes darted around the restaurant were not what he expected.

“I um, I have to—I’m just gonna—I’m just gonna go, I guess,” you rambled, voice thick and wavering at the end.

“(Y/N)?” he asked in confusion, standing himself.

“I’m sorry, I just have to—” she ended her sentence, turning from him and darting through the restaurant and out the doors. Bucky stood there, staring at where her figure had disappeared around the corner. He had thought for sure that this was what she wanted. But if that was true, then why did she seem so upset? Why had he seen tears in her eyes as she ran from him? Did she not want to break up? She must have – she agreed to it so easily. So quickly. Throwing cash down on the table, he was halfway to the door when a server stopped him.

“Excuse me, sir – I think your friend dropped this.”

A small red box was placed in his hand, no bigger than a coin envelope and feather light. Thin white ribbon wrapped around the center tightly, forming a lopsided bow. He stared at the strange object in his hand. What could this possibly be? And why did (Y/N) have it? Exiting the restaurant, he leaned against the side of the building and pulled on the ribbon.

At the sight of the contents of the box, his stomach dropped. A small white card sat at the top:

_No more nightmares. Live with me instead?_

Picking up the card, adorned with your messy, looping script he spotted the silver key that sat below.

Fuck.

Racing down the streets, he’d never been more grateful for his super-soldier stamina and speed. He reached you just as you were getting out of a cab outside your building. Tears streaked down your face, makeup running and eyes red.

“(Y/N)!”

You turned, nearly tripping over your own feet as you did, “Bucky, what are you doing here?”

“I’m an idiot.”

“What?” you asked, bringing a hand up to hurriedly wipe at your face.

“I’m an idiot,” he said again, pulling the box from his pocket and holding it out to you.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, opening your purse frantically to see that the box was in fact not there but in his hand. “This is so embarrassing. You can—I can take that, and we can just forget—”

“Why did you agree?”

“Why did I agree to what?” you asked in confusion.

“Why did you agree to break up when you were going to ask me to move in?” he asked, stepping towards you.

“You said you weren’t happy. I’m not going to beg you to stay with me if you’re unhappy. I love you way too much to do that.”

You continued to talk, but the words drowned out as his brain processed what you’d just said. You loved him. You loved him and you wanted him to move in with you, and he had just broken up with him. He was a fucking idiot.

Your voice came back into the foreground of his mind, swelling to full volume, “And I really don’t understand why you raced all the way here to—”

He cut you off, leaning down and capturing your lips with his. You were soft, sweet, and completely all-encompassing–just like always. His heart convulsed in his chest when you leaned into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. He kissed you harder, putting everything he had into that one kiss. The one kiss he could give to say ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. Please forgive me’. Pulling away, he rested his forehead to yours, breathing raggedly as he held you tight. Arms wrapped impossibly tight around your middle, fingers digging into your clothes, not an inch of space between the two of you. Hell would freeze over before he let you go.

“I’m not unhappy (Y/N). The only time I _am_ happy is when I’m with you. I love you so much. I don’t wanna’ lose you,” he confessed, feeling the back of his throat constrict and the tears in his eyes begin to form.

“Then why?”

“I thought you wanted to break up with me. I was trying to make things easier for you.”

Pulling away from him, you thwacked him across the chest, “Why in the world would you think I wanted to break up with you James Buchanan Barnes?”

He felt dumb, but he also felt slightly justified when he answered, “I told you about Riga, and then you pretty much disappeared on me for a week (Y/N). What was I supposed to think?”

“You were supposed to believe what I told you, you big dummy! That I didn’t think it was your fault. That you’re not a monster. That I’m here for you!” you said, pacing in front of him. You looked at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world, and he felt like it too. But he couldn’t help but smile. You loved him. You didn’t think he was a monster. Hell, you still cared enough about him to yell at him and tell him when he was being an idiot.

“Can I still move in?” he asked lamely, unsure of what else to say. He waited on edge as you sighed and tilted your head back. Sniffing away the tears and emotions, you shook your head in exasperation.

“I mean, if I say no, then the sheer amount of work I put in this week to get this apartment ready for you, would be for nothing,” you sighed, smiling at him wryly.

“You’ve been getting it ready?”

“Of course!” you exclaimed. “What do you think I’ve been doing this whole week I’ve been MIA? I had to practically force myself to avoid you so I wouldn’t accidentally tell you what I’ve been up to.”

You began to walk towards the front entrance of your building, leaving him to stare at your retreating figure in a dumbfounded stupor. Man, he really felt like an idiot.

“Well?” you asked, turning back to him, “Are you coming or what?”

The whirling sound of wind halted his answer. A roar swept through the air as a gust picked up around them. Looking up in confusion, Bucky was greeted by the sight of Sam in full falcon gear flying towards them before landing on the sidewalk in front of him.

“Wait! Stop! I need—I have to tell—don’t—” he panted “Hold on. I need a minute.” Bracing his hands on his knees, he breathed heavily, catching his breath.

“Sam? What are you doing here?” Bucky asked Sam, “And why are you out of breath? You were using the suit. That takes absolutely no cardio.”

“I couldn’t use the suit to fly to _every_ pizza joint in Brooklyn. It only has so much juice _Terminator_. I had to run a couple hundred blocks with the suit on.”

You had made your way to his side again by now, intertwining your fingers with his as you both looked at Sam.

“Why were you running between every pizza joint in Brooklyn?” Bucky asked, still unsure why his partner and friend was standing before them in a manic state.

“Because! You’re about to make a stupid mistake, you asshat and I’m trying to stop you before—” he stopped. Looking between the two of you and then at your intertwined fingers. “Wait. You didn’t?” he asked Bucky, trying to communicate with his eyes without alerting you.

“I did,” Bucky sighed, looking down at you apologetically.

“But you’re?” Sam motioned between the two of you with a finger, trying to piece it all together.

“I may have told him over the phone that I was asking you to move in, right before I met you for dinner,” you told him, a guilty expression on your face. Ahhh, that made sense.

“Unfortunately, you’re a bit late to the big, unfortunate scene. We hashed it out. I’m moving in,” Bucky laughed.

“But it was very sweet of you to come all the way out here to try and stop it from happening Sam!” you called to him, giving him an apologetic smile.

“Are you kidding me?! I came all the way out—I tried—You know what—” Sam held up his hands in good-natured defeat “—I’m happy for the two of you. But from now on COMMUNICATION. Falcon out.”

With that, he extended his wings, taking off and disappearing beyond the city scape within a matter of moments.

“I thought he was Captain America now?” you asked, light heartedly.

“Only when he has the shield. When he wears the wings, he insists on calling himself Falcon still,” he informed you, turning with you as you both began to walk back towards the front entrance of your building.

“Interesting…well, ready to go home?” The words from your lips, made him lift – lighter than air as he pulled the key from the box in his pocket and placed it into the lock.

“Yea, let’s go home.”


End file.
